


Early Sunset, Christmas Lights, and You

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which nothing goes as it’s supposed to, snow and orgasms are the Christmas essentials, and they all just really love each other. Or, fluff and silliness overload!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Sunset, Christmas Lights, and You

**Author's Note:**

> For [knottle](http://knottle.livejournal.com/) at [1dholidaze](http://1dholidaze.livejournal.com/). Happy holidays, I hope you like it!
> 
> All my gratitude goes to my partner in crime Nicki for her amazing beta and cheerleading work. ♥
> 
> ([Read on LJ.](http://theramble.livejournal.com/14066.html))

This year’s Christmas starts with a car and the five of them and _maybe_ some tears, almost.

 

~

 

“Mate, good luck getting through _that_.” At Louis’ words, everyone looks out where something resembling a small snow storm begins to form.

“I’m glad it’s snowing though,” Harry says. “Christmas without snow sucks.”

“And it’s freezing,” Liam adds. “It really should snow if it insists on freezing. Freezing without snow is no good.”

Zayn nudges Niall. “You should take my beanie.”

And it’s silly. They are being silly.

They’re parked outside of Niall’s flat complex and Paul is considerately Somewhere Else and they might have just left a farewell party behind but when the time comes to actually say goodbye, they find themselves saying anything but.

It _is_ silly. They have just spent pretty much the entire rest of 2012 together, and 2013 is already scheduled to be the same. Those ten days they get off for the holidays should present a welcome change. _But_.

“Christmas without _you_ sucks,” Niall says what they’re all thinking, and the van falls silent.

Harry shifts in his seat. “Group hug?”

“Yes, please,” Louis agrees, and then it’s all holding tightly onto each other and hands trying to reach a piece of everyone else and, “that beanie’s actually mine, bro,” Louis says, muffled against somebody’s shoulder, making the whole entity of five shake with a chuckle.

Suddenly there’s a chilly breeze up their necks and Paul’s voice from the door. “Coming, Niall?”

Not breaking the huddle, Niall whispers “Paul hug?” and as always, it’s all the impulse they need to unanimously scream “Paul hug!,” trapping the man in their midst.

“Merry Christmas, you little shits.”

Merry Christmas indeed.

 

~

 

Harry is already up when Louis arrives to the kitchen and announces, his morning voice even sharper than usual, “My head is killing me.” He sits on one of the stools with a pained expression but smiles despite himself when he feels soft fingertips against his bare hips.

“Tea. Lots of it. On it,” Harry says, breaking the contact to put the kettle on, but not before planting a light kiss on Louis’ cheek.

(There’s an almost intangible layer of facial hair and Harry savors the moment, his mind vaguely wandering to the upcoming weeks when Louis can shave less and Harry savor more. He finds it immensely attractive - he makes a mental note to let Louis know later - and if it also makes a skin-on-skin contact scratchier, well, it’s a price Harry’s willing to pay.)

“You’re a keeper,” Louis says genuinely and starts laughing when Harry’s face lights up at his words. He cusses when it turns into a cough. “Remind me not to blow you, wasted, in winter, ever again. I think that combination ruined me. At least we haven’t got any interviews.”

Harry pulls a face at Louis’ threat but a second later has a proud comeback complete with an abundantly smug expression on his face.  “I guess my dick _is_ that dangerous.”

Louis goes for a feeble attempt at a kick, which Harry easily dodges from his favorable standing position. “Now I _definitely_ won’t.” If Louis goes for stern, the grin that breaks on his face gives him away.

When they settle on a couch with morning cartoons and a woolen blanket up Louis’ chin (“Stop fidgeting. You should be wearing a shirt in the first place.” “Thanks, _mum_.”), Harry suddenly speaks. “So what are your plans?” Louis raises an eyebrow. “Your Christmas slash birthday plans, I mean.”

Louis turns back to SpongeBob. “Our Christmas slash birthday plans, you mean.”

So Harry does too and maybe his heart beats a little faster and maybe he can’t help but smile and.

It’s not that he needed the confirmation but it’s nice to hear it anyway.

( _Exhilarating_ more like, if he’s being honest.)

“Yep.”

“Minus the birthday part that is.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You’re not old.”

Louis kicks him across the couch (with about the same amount of success as the first time). “Who said anything about old!”

“The lines. I read between them. And you know birthdays are just an excuse to do whatever you want. With me and Stanley, preferably.”

Louis glances over at that (looking extraordinarily cuddly under the blanket, Harry observes). “Aw, how sweet that you’re willing to share me.”

Harry lets out an exaggerated sigh. “It is a sacrifice.”

Louis smirks. “By the way,” he continues, his tone different, and Harry can’t help but reflexively react to the change and throw him a smile, welcoming, reassuring. “This might be a rubbish idea but I was thinking we could visit Donny and your picturesque town before and after Christmas and spend Christmas Day here.”

Harry resists the urge to scream with joy and immediately throw himself on Louis, and instead says with all the cheek he can muster, “I don’t know, wouldn’t that make us an _old_ married couple?”

It takes a few seconds but then, “ _Whatever_ , I can tell you love the idea. Your problem is that you’ve got absolutely no poker face.”

Harry lets himself shriek (making Louis cackle) and waggles his toes. “Let’s play strip poker then.”

“Really, Mr. Never Not Naked? Logic is not your strongest suit, is it.”

“Mr. N-N-N,” Harry says helpfully. (Christmas is coming and he _is_ naked and he’s got Louis and he can says stupid things if he wants. It _is_ rather logical if you ask him.)

“Whatever you say, kitten,” Louis says dryly. “You know, you can stop flirting right now. I’m too weak for any funny business.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Harry says, looking nothing but mischievous, something clicking in his brain. “Your stubble is _so_ _sexy_ , by the way.”

“You know _my_ Christmas slash birthday plans? You’re uninvited,” Louis says and it’s so childish Harry has to cuddle him and tackle him a little, too. Nothing illogical about that, really.

 

~

 

“ _Look_ ,” Louis draws out and he’s got _that_ voice, sweet and teasing at the same time. ” _Christmas by Harry Styles_.”

Harry flicks his eyes off of the road for the few seconds he can afford without losing control of the wheel to peek at what he’s holding. “Wait, is that my old school assignment? Did you steal it from my room or something?”

“Maybe,” Louis says, clearly pleased with himself, and switches the light above him on. “I’ll attempt to read it but we’ll see how that goes. Your handwriting is terrible.”

“I was like eight!” Harry points out defensively. (He could note Louis’ handwriting is rather terrible to this day except he would never.)

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis pats his knee. “Okay. _Christmas is my favorite holiday after my birthday._ Oh, so your birthday is a holiday now?”

“Eight,” Harry mouths, torn on whether to cringe or laugh.

“ _I like getting a lot of presents._ _I like that it snows but I don’t like the cold. I wish it could snow but stay worm._ Worm W-O-R-M _._ ”

“Gemma was supposed to proofread it. I’ll have to thank her again for the great job she did,” Harry says bitingly.

“I don’t know, it makes sense to me. It could be like raining cats and dogs. Snowing worms and other gross shit,” Louis says, and Harry’s not sure if that makes any sense at all but he still bursts into laughter. “When I was that age, someone dared me to eat a worm once.”

“And you did,” Harry predicts, briefly roaring again before his face turns earnest. “Sometimes I think it’s unfair I didn’t know you back then. Okay, that doesn’t make sense. I guess I just really wish I did? It’s stupid to have spent sixteen years without knowing you.” He’s rambling, he’s aware, baring his inner thoughts that out loud sound corny even to him, but he means them, is the thing, and he doesn’t hesitate to let Louis know.

He can’t see Louis’ face or his smile but he can hear it in his voice as he goes back to reading. “ _I like that you spend Christmas with people you love._ ”

“That kid really gets it,” Harry says pointedly. Louis puts his hand on his knee again, only this time it stays there.

 

~

 

Louis walks into the kitchen in a strange deja vu, even without a hangover or a cold or what might have been a mild sex-related injury hurting everywhere.

Harry’s moving around in an actual (so far untarnished) apron, which Louis didn’t even know they had, over boxers and one of Louis’ old striped t-shirts (looking ridiculously small and well, simply ridiculous on Harry), and there’s a smear of something on his nose. It is entirely too early for that. “You’re a monster.”

“Hey,” Harry beams as if he said nothing at all and notices Louis’ pulling out his phone. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture of you and sending it to everyone I know. Done.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to pose,” Harry protests and Louis takes a few steps closer until they’re only inches apart.

“Sorry.” Louis stands on the tips of his toes and licks the smear off with a single flick of his tongue. “Cranberry sauce. Yummy.”

“Yeah?” Harry grins.

“Food fight and shower?”

Harry catches himself on verge of agreeing but stops himself on time. “ _No_. I’m cooking my first ever Christmas dinner. I don’t want to screw it up.”

Louis smiles tamely. “Yeah. I’m going to be boring, too, then, and nap some more.”

“Cool,” Harry says, a bit bemused. (Then again, it is rather early in we’ve-got-nowhere-to-be-the-whole-day standards.) “Thanks for, um, asking and not throwing?” he says, raising a voice after Louis, who has already disappeared through the door.

There’s a “fuck, we _are_ an old married couple” in return and Harry giggles to himself.

“Is Christmas your soft spot, Lou?” He considers it a victory when this time Louis only manages an “ugh.”

Harry spends the next hour trying his best not to feel overwhelmed by the whole cooking routine. Except it’s far from routine for him. Normally he’d enjoy trying out new meals and he can’t feel too pressured when it’s just for the couple of them but he still can’t help wanting to prepare something _nice_. He even had his mum verbally go over her routine with him last week (while Louis was busy stealing his old homework, apparently).

When he puts on Christmas songs and pours himself a glass of red wine to pass the time, all determination and discipline goes downhill.

He finds himself boogying into the bedroom after the turkey’s put in the oven for roasting. “ _Rocking around the Christmas tree_ ,”

Louis groggily opens his eyes and sits up straight,

“ _at the Christmas party hop._ ”

“What are we doing?”

“Dancing,” Harry says happily, still shaking his body to the rhythm long gone now that the CD has stopped. “You know, we should do a One Direction Christmas album.”

Louis tilts his head comically to the side. “You’re being weird and I like it.”

Harry plants a brief kiss on his mouth. “It could go, _I want you to rock me, rock me, rock me under the Christmas tree_.”

“That was terrible. I won’t let you write songs for us ever again.”

Harry combs his fingers though Louis’ hair. “But?”

“But I will take you up on that offer.”

“Yay,” Harry whispers, raises his fist in a winning gesture just because, and moves to climb on the bed and subsequently Louis’ lap. The corners of Louis’ mouth twitch upwards and Harry, well aware of how ungraceful he must look, barks a lighthearted “shut up.”

Finally he finds himself kneeling on Louis and pulls him in for a prolonged kiss, taking his time to enjoy the way their lips press against each other in the harmonious manner they’ve perfected over time, and he pushes his tongue barely in when Louis’ meets him.

After a few more deliberate kisses, which send all the right signals to his lower region and an appreciative groan up his throat, Harry draws back, brushing his nose against Louis’ as he does.

“We haven’t got mistletoe.”

Louis taps his fingers on Harry’s cheek in a mild version of a slap. “Now you need mistletoe to snog me?”

“ _Mistletoe hung where you can see_ ,” Harry sings and eyes Louis apologetically.

“You really love that song.”

“Um-hum,” Harry nods in agreement, playfully nibbles on Louis’ lower lip, and make his way from the corner of his mouth down his jaw and back to his lips with kisses. His hands move from absentmindedly fondling Louis’ chest to pull down his boxers just enough to free his half-hard cock.

Louis snickers when he realizes Harry’s still got his cooking attire on. Gripping the back of his neck, he pulls Harry’s ear close to whisper “get it off so I can get you off,” and Harry meets his eyes as he immediately reaches behind his back to untangle the knot of his apron and throws it aside.

“Wait,” Louis interferes when Harry moves to continue with his own boxers.

Harry, unconcerned, begins grinding against Louis’ thighs in slow circular motions and gets hold of Louis’ dick to stroke it in the same rhythm. “Do you want me to blow you, yeah?” he says, his voice hoarse and cheeks slightly flushed just from the kissing, and there’s a new wave of sensation pervading Louis’ dick. He hesitates.

“Have we got time for rocking?”

Harry gulps, remembering the dire, responsible stuff like meal, _yes_ , _maybe_ , _I’ve got no clue_ running through his mind all at once, and makes a decision to forget again. “I snagged something from your room, too.” He bobs his head towards the nightstand.

When Louis sets his eyes on it, he throws Harry a baffled look. “You found an ancient condom in my room and took it so I could fuck you with it?” Harry’s dimples appear and Louis shakes his head but doesn’t say another word and pulls Harry’s t-shirt (or rather his t-shirt on Harry) over his head with ease. Once that is done, he sucks on Harry’s collarbone with clear intention to leave a mark. Harry moans and,

“I’ve got a timer.”

“ _Harry_.” Louis buries his head in Harry’s shoulder in a dramatic act of desperation, quickly wondering how someone can go from fucking _obscene_ to so random and odd and whatnot in a matter of seconds.

“For the turkey.”

“ _Yeah._ ”

“I’m also trying to get my finger up my ass if you care to hand me some lube and pay attention.”

Honestly.

 

~

 

“ _Louis!_ ”

Louis appears at the door immediately. (There are two pairs of wet footsteps tracing the way.) He relaxes when everything appears - Harry appears - fine.“Why’ve you got your injured voice? Or was it your coming voice?”

Harry’s face stays notably panicked. “I fucked up. I’m sorry. I fucked it all up.”

Louis frowns, his brain screaming _no_ at Harry’s self-blame. “No,” he actually says out loud, firmly enough, but purposefully softens his next words. “What are you talking about, babes?”

“The turkey,” Harry says darkly. He takes a deep breath. “It’s not done. It _won’t_ be done, not on time. I did everything I was supposed to do, except I didn’t check the temperature control, ‘cause I never change it, it’s always on the right temperature when I use it, but it’s not now. It was all down on zero, and I just. Fucked up.”

Harry’s visibly upset and Louis doesn’t _understand_ what is there to be upset over but he wraps Harry into a tight hug (wishing, not for the first time, he could be taller and truly tug him in).

“You’re stupid.”

“I know,” Harry hums against him and Louis laughs at him, entirely lovingly.

“No. You’re stupid for thinking I care about the turkey. Unless you’re sad for yourself, in which case, mate, Christmas isn’t about the food, remember?” Behind his back, Harry mouth twitches into something close to a smile. “And you’re stupid for thinking you’re stupid because of this.”

“What?” Harry cracks up.

“And,” Louis takes a step back and looks straight into Harry’s eyes, pursing his lips, “I’m stupid. I vaguely remember playing around with the control thing the other day when you were cleaning the kitchen and my hands got bored?”

“What?” Harry stares at him with his mouth left gaping and they’re both still naked and Louis would laugh if.

“You don’t hate me, do you?” he asks, still pouting and shamelessly hoping that looking cute will ease up the damage.

“Oh man,” Harry says, clearly still processing what happened. After a few seconds he shakes his head. “I got like really intense and scary about this, didn’t I?”

“Kind of,” Louis says, smiling sweetly now. “’S good you’re not anymore ‘cause now I can do this!” Shouting his final words, he grabs into a bowl beside him and smears a fistful of cranberry sauce on Harry’s forehead.

“Aah,” Harry lets out and, having adjusted to the newest turn of events, reaches nearby. Something lands on on Louis’ face and he arches his messed eyebrows. “Bread sauce,” Harry explains, poking Louis’ ribs with his hand that’s covered with it now. “It was all _perfect_ , Lou. Until.”

Now that he knows he’s safe from Harry’s wrath, Louis sticks out his tongue and looks around the kitchen. There is still plenty of time to get dirty. Or, well. Dirtier.

 

~

 

Much more ruined food and one half-hearted shower later, Harry finds himself blindfolded in the streets of London. He’s also wearing what he assumes to be some ridiculous winter hat (it _feels_ like a ridiculous winter hat, at least) to “cover the curls from prying eyes,” Louis tells him, and fair enough, no one would be too happy to have to explain Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson of One Direction doing god knows what on Christmas Eve, and. What _are_ they doing?

Harry doesn’t know and the truth is, with one hand in Louis’ and the other gripping an opened bottle of their third champagne, he doesn’t even mind that much. (And he thinks of Niall, ranting about American drinking laws, and he thinks of Zayn and Liam, and it’s nice. And wistful, but nice.)

“Are we drunk yet?” he blurts out at one point, Louis’ laugh ringing in his ears, echoing his own. “I mean are we there yet?” Louis only spins him around.

At another point, Louis dumps a pile of snow down his collar and _it’s not nice_ and Harry can cause trouble, too, blindfold or not, he proves when he dives full-weight on Louis, making them both crash to the ground in hysterics (and the champagne spills but he’s drunk enough and Louis promises more Where They’re Going, even though he shouldn’t since Harry’s been a _very bad boy_ , he says, and it’s as hilarious as it is not sexy.)

Finally comes the time of the Grand Revelation and Harry realizes they’re standing on Zayn’s doorstep. He turns to Louis questioningly.

“Zayn’s not here,” Louis says, taking out their shared emergency key Zayn handed out back when he got the place. “We still need to have our ruined Christmas somewhere, and when is breaking in somewhere not fun?”

“Should I be worried about your criminal tendencies?”

“Probably.”

“Liam’s is closer?”

Louis shrugs. “Zayn’s is the nicest. And the cleanest.”

“ _So far_ ,” Harry grins conspiratorially, and the door abruptly opens with Liam behind them.

They all stare at each other for a few second before Louis gasps loudly. “Liam Payne. Did you two crazy kids finally decide to follow our stellar example and make sweet love behind all of our backs?”

Liam remains unfazed. “They’re here. And they’re drunk,” he shouts back to where he came from.

Harry flashes him a smile. “We love you, too.”

 

~

 

“Can someone update me on what we’re doing?” Zayn says.

“Can someone update _me_ on why we’re _all_ in London on Christmas?” Louis says back.

They’re back to walking, all five of them wearing what absolutely _are_ ridiculous winter hats, despite everything getting darker and the streets getting thinner and the fact they almost attract more attention this way than if they didn’t go all incognito, as Liam, who puts his hat on the second Louis asks, points out.

Turns out Liam paid for his family to take a trip to Florida but didn’t want to miss England on Christmas Eve so he decided to stay behind.

Turns out Zayn didn’t want Liam to miss everyone so he took a train from Bradford last night.

Turns out Niall didn’t want to miss the fun, and he had Christmas dinner with his family on Christmas Eve, it’s not a big deal.

The result was a little get-together at Zayn’s (“because you all know my place is superior to all of yours,” he points out and no one argues).

Harry frowns. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Hey, I wanted to,” Zayn says. “But Niall...”

“You were sending us these stupidly adorable couple pictures!” Niall jumps in. “I would love to have you over but it seemed right to give you some alone time, y’know?”

Harry startles as Niall catches up on him and drapes his arms around him from behind, but melts into the hug and coos, “Aww.”

“Um,” Liam starts. “I knew you wouldn’t last long just the two of you.”

“Yeah, it’s true,” Zayn says. “We made a bet.”

“And I won,” Liam says.

“When did _you_ become so vile and cynical? Who did this to you?” Louis exclaims and the other four reply “you” as one. He gives them a pleased smirk.

“I just knew something would go wrong with the Tommo and Hazza,” Liam continues, pulling on the strings of Louis’ hat, his usual bright smile appearing. The mentioned exchange a look.

“Well you were wrong, Liam the Pooh,” Harry says sweetly and joins Liam on his other side not occupied by Louis. “ _With an H_ ,” he adds when Liam looks at him like a hurt puppy. “We actually just really missed you guys.”

“Yeah, we wanted to roll around in Zayn’s blankets and breathe in the smell.”

Zayn gives them a look but his outrage is laced with amusement when he says, “Please tell me you weren’t planning on having sex in my bed.”

Louis winks at him. “Without you? Never.”

“Maybe once.”

“But really,” Niall says. “What _are_ we doing?”

Turns out they should be glad they’re not all blindfolded, Harry tells them (waving his blindfold around and, as far as Zayn is concerned, practically admitting to planning on having kinky sex in his bed earlier).

Turns out Louis thinks there’s a high chance of finding a pub on Christmas Day as long as it’s got a sad, lonely owner. (“Or someone who doesn’t celebrate Christmas, no?” Zayn tries. No. A sad, lonely owner.)

Turns out high in theory means pretty fucking low in reality.

But when the snow starts falling, fate takes pity on them once again and they find just what they are looking for.

 

~

 

 _Gangnam Style_ is playing in the background.

“He doesn’t seem very sad,” Harry whispers as they’re watching owner Joe (Louis insisted on naming him) leave with their orders. Five pints and champagne “to keep it classy.”

“That’s because his only customers just arrived,” Niall says sensibly and eyes everyone. “Why am I the only one wearing a Christmas sweater? I’m disappointed, lads.” And, “Fuck, should’ve gotten Pringles as well.”

When he rushes off to the bar, Liam looks around the table fondly. “The Fab Five together on Christmas. I don’t know, it feels right.”

“Niall just left. Now we can be the Fab Four at last!” Louis says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but he reaches over to pinch Liam’s nipple affectionately.

They laugh at Liam’s pain when Niall returns, balancing all their liquor on a tray.

“Wow, Niall,” Harry says. “Say what you want but if you keep lifting pints like this, you might actually grow some guns.”

“Seriously, Nialler. Joe will get all bored if you don’t let him do anything,” Louis says.

“Ha ha,” Niall punctuates at them both and then actually cracks up. His laughing fit gets worse when Harry leans into him in what appears to be an attempt to lick his neck.

“At least _he_ ’s got the drunk excuse,” Liam says, watching the spectacle, and Louis elbows Zayn.

“Hey, brooder-mooder. Sup.”

Zayn bumps their knees together. “Yeah, just kind of miss the family, I guess.” Louis pulls a ludicrous sad face and Zayn strums his lips. “But, like, I’d miss you weirdos if I was there, you know?”

“And you wouldn’t get to dress Harry up as a Christmas tree,” Louis deadpans.

Zayn follows Louis’ gaze to an abandoned box of Christmas ornaments in the corner. “Exactly.”

The wordless conversation that follows gets interrupted when Niall exclaims, “Hey, you’ve got bird shit or something in your hair.”

Louis eyes shoot to Harry. “It’s... bread sauce. Right?”

Harry actually starts choking on his beer until Liam hits him in the back (maybe a bit too readily). “Yeah,” he says, not at all managing to hide the grin completely giving away where his mind just went.

About a minute later Louis nods at Zayn, “Let’s do this,” and they swiftly get up to grab Harry before he’s got a chance to realize what’s going on, and maneuver him to the corner.

“He’s got just the hair,” Zayn muses when Louis hands him a golden Christmas chain. Louis couldn’t agree more.

 

~

 

It’s just the two of them again after Niall and Zayn team up to take on Liam at pool.

“They might actually win,” Harry says. “All that beer Liam’s had has got to get to his superhero head.”

“Good lad, drinking like a real boy.” Louis smiles widely, and everything feels so very right. “It’s a good pub actually. We should endorse it.”

“ _No_ ,” Harry whines. “Then I couldn’t suck your dick in the loo after tonight.”

“It’s true, you haven’t eaten all day,” Louis says and they both burst into giggles like a bunch of thirteen-year-olds. When they calm down, Harry takes a gulp of his champagne and bobs his head in the bathroom’s direction.

“Come on.”

They eye Joe from the force of habit more than anything else (“Our Joe wouldn’t rat us.”) and as discreetly as possible (which is little, it turns out, as Niall waves at them while they sneak by) head to one of the three small but thankfully quite neat stalls. Louis passes up Harry’s offer to try out the girls’ toilets instead, finding it hilarious to force the others go if they want to avoid them.

“Right,” Harry says and tilts his head to give his hair a shake, leftover bits of various Christmas chains falling out. Louis bites his lip, amused and turned on and drunkenly enraptured (and there’s something thrilling about bathroom sex and something comforting about having everyone just behind a wall, and Louis’s not sure if the sequence of his thought process makes it creepy but there it is).

And then everything is Harry pushing his shoulders against the door (the hinges rattling as he does) and kissing him eagerly, and he could swear he actually goes weak at the knees. Harry’s fingers move all over his upper body and he manages to find enough concentration to slip his under Harry’s shirt and trace them over his V line, sliding them under the waistband of his trousers where he feels a brush of pubic hair.

Harry moves from his mouth to bite into his earlobe while his hands glide over Louis’ ass and start working on the zipper of his jeans until they finally fall down to his ankles, and when he pulls down the boxers as well, Louis’ cock flips against his stomach. Harry firmly brushes his tongue over Louis’ one last time and licks his lips, which have now turned the darkest shade of pink.

“I want you to fuck my mouth already,” he murmurs.

And then he gets an ugly case of hiccups.

“Are you -- kidding me.”

“Hey. Just.” Louis peels himself from the door and steers Harry against the side wall of the stall, pressing against him, and whispers into his neck, “I’ll... I want to give you head. Take it as a thank you for...”

“The tur -- key?” Harry mocks.

Louis cups his face and brushes his thumb across his cheek, his eyes wrinkling from a smile, “Something like that.”

He lowers himself to his knees and starts working on those ridiculously tight trousers Harry’s wearing even today, which must have been killing him now, to free his cock. Harry puts his hands on his shoulders with the same impatience Louis feels, too, and at last, he grabs the base of Harry’s dick and without further ado rounds his lips and takes him in his mouth. Harry tightens the grip on his shoulders as he works his flattened tongue along the shaft a few times and pushes the cock deeper until it’s way at the back of his throat, and back up, and again, and engages his hand to pump what he can’t fit into his mouth.

It creates lewd smacking noises that make Louis even hotter and he looks up at Harry and his exposed throat from resting his head against the stall, and presses his teeth against the dick with perfectly calculated pressure he knows will feel only a little bit painful and really _good_. Harry whimpers loudly, and it’s reckless and amazing in a way that makes Louis’ own erection painfully demanding but he remains, with all his will, fully focused on Harry, using his free hand to caress his balls.

When he slows down to alternate the pace, Harry’s hips buck forwards, and suddenly it’s all he wants: to be fucked and make Harry come and make himself come so badly, so his hand lets go of Harry’s balls and presses against his ass to encourage him to set the rhythm, letting his jaw go slack and using the other hand holding the cock only to keep it steady. Harry takes the hint, places his palm at the back of Louis’ head and starts humping him, finally allowing Louis to grab his own dick and work on rashly jerking himself off.

It doesn’t take long before Harry lets out deep and breathless, “Fuck, I’m...,” and Louis pulls his head back and has Harry come all over his tongue and chin. He swallows and the taste is bitter from the booze but it’s the final goad he needs before he feels his muscles stiffen and the pleasure become too much and then he’s coming too, eyes closing, still gripping both of their cocks in each hand.

“Well fuck,” he says once he gathers himself and Harry crouches next to him with a grin.

“You’ve got...,” he says laughing and rips off a bit of toilet paper to wipe Louis’ chin clean.

“Yeah, and you.” Louis points to his trousers where Louis’ spunk landed.

Harry grabs more toilet paper. “ _That_ was my coming voice, a’right?”

“Won’t make that mistake again,” Louis says, more than a little giddy, the look on Harry’s face telling him the feeling’s mutual.

 

~

 

“ _Liam won_? I hate him.”

“I love you, too.”

 

~

 

 _Hey girl, I’m waiting on ya, I’m waiting on ya_ , is blasting on the radio.

“Do you think Joe knows?”

 

~

 

“Top five Christmases for sure.”

“Even with the turkey?”

“Yeah.”

“Even with the vomit?”

“Eugh.”

“Yeah.”

 

~

 

This year’s Christmas ends with a pub and the five of them and wasted winter blow jobs after all, and okay, definitely some tears. (Oh, and a sad, lonely pub owner.)

Top five for sure.


End file.
